


Cognizance

by kaientai



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Bakery, But they'll spoil the bigger picture, F/M, I'm dying to tag more, Stuff is sorta already established
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-02-29 11:47:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18777658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaientai/pseuds/kaientai
Summary: When you landed a job in one of Miyagi's finest bakeries, the last thing you'd expect is for it to be run by the denizens of the light—seraphim, they called themselves. But sometimes all that glitters isn't gold, and you find yourself (accidentally) pining over your colleagues' arch-nemesis who takes form in an eligible bachelor that people called the Grand King.(Alternatively: the demon seijou and seraphim shiratorizawa au where oikawa more or less fucks everything up to kill time.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [olokawa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/olokawa/gifts).



> Inspired by diabolism666's art [here](https://diabolism666.tumblr.com/post/163749359491/reddish-white-eagle) and [here](https://diabolism666.tumblr.com/post/163513133411/white-eagle).

“Another gas leak?”

Your ears perk up at Kawanishi’s concerned voice resounding from the cashier. You throw him a curious look over your shoulder, momentarily tearing yourself away from your current duty which takes form in replenishing the shelves with fresh pastries. From where he’s seated, Kawanishi stares at the small television propped on the counter with a prominent crease marring his brow. He must be watching the news again. It's only two in the afternoon—far earlier than the designated time slot for the regular news broadcasts. But for the past week, flash reports were invading TV screens in sporadic times of the day, all of which depicted the same message.

“The Miyagi Police Department are diligently looking into the matter, but the evidence at hand is supposedly still inconclusive. But it hasn’t escaped the public’s notice that all the victims of the aforementioned gas leaks were customers of a single company that refilled their gas tanks regularly. Today’s victims from downtown Sendai have been sent to the hospital and are yet to regain consciousness—”

“The world is becoming a real scary place to live in.” Kawanishi clicks his tongue before promptly switching off the TV. “I’m probably going to start cooking my food with bonfires now.”

“You can’t even cook for shit, Taichi.” You snort, re-adjusting your plastic gloves before resuming your previous task.

He returns your jab at his lack of the particular life skill with a grimace. “Hey, I man the cashier way better than you ever will.”

“Your point is...?”

“Could you just shut up and get back to the kitchen?” Kawanishi rolls his eyes, pretending to busy himself with the sales logbook on the counter even if there aren’t any customers inside the bakery.

A jeering chuckle slips past your lips at his dismissive behavior. But knowing full well that you still have a pot pie scheduled for delivery later in the day, you decide to leave Kawanishi to his own devices so you can get started with the order. However, when you set foot in the kitchen, you're met with the sight of Reon teaching the newest recruit, Goshiki how to properly hand-knead pie dough without making too much of a mess.

“Reon, I thought it was my turn to handle deliveries,” you half-whine before peeling off your plastic gloves for disposal. After, you pull out one of the folded metal chairs tucked away in the corner to watch Reon’s demonstration. Though from the knowing look in his eye, he seems well aware that you're more than glad that he took over your responsibilities to give Goshiki a quick tutorial.

“Tsutomu here told me he was tired of inventory,” he reasons with a shrug, hands still occupied with the task before him. “He’s been here for almost a month and I’m sure Wakatoshi won’t mind if I teach him how to bake.”

Your gaze meanders to Goshiki who's staring at you with a hint of timidness to his posture; those dark eyes of his conveying a subtle plea. “I-Is it okay, senpai?”

Before you can even think of holding it in, your lips curl into a wide smile, cackling at the younger boy’s formality. “Tsutomu, it’s more than okay! And don’t call me senpai. Makes me feel old.”

Reon eyes you with amusement. “Aren’t you a few years away from turning thir—”

Before he can finish the sentence, you stomp over towards him to jab a finger in his face. “I don’t make offhanded comments about your life so don’t you make any about mine.”

“Ah, what is it with the youth these days?” a fourth voice intrudes in the conversation. “Always so insecure about aging. The older you become, the more things you’ll know about the world, you know~”

You whip your head to the direction from where it came from, and lo and behold, one of the bakery’s owners shoved past the kitchen’s double doors to grace you with his presence. There was always something about Tendou Satori that put you on edge; not in a bad way, really. You’ve long convinced yourself that maybe it’s his unconventional appearance that you find unsettling. That fiery hair and those glinting rubies for eyes certainly cater to his reputation. But besides the occasional eccentric comment from him, the way the air crackles with an intangible tension that you can’t quite wrap your head around in the rare instance that you’re in the same room is still hard to ignore.

“Tendou,” Reon acknowledges him tentatively. “You’re here early. Don’t you usually drop by at seven on weekends?”

Tendou perches himself near the tiled sink, the heels of his sneakers colliding with the wooden cabinets underneath as he sways his slender legs. “Eita-kun told me told me to haul my ass here as soon as I could or he’ll skin me alive.” His mouth puckers a little, eyes darting around. “Yet the present audience only consists of one head baker, one trainee, and one age-conscious little bird.”

A soft sigh escapes Reon as he quietly asks Goshiki to retrieve the rolling pin from the cabinets. The younger man carries it out with the most enthusiasm you’ve seen on someone who usually just acted upon another person’s orders. Quite the cheery one, he is.

“Where’s Eita then?” Reon inquires with upturned brows.

“Beats me,” comes Tendou’s indifferent reply. “He’s probably out there bullying Kenjirō. You know how Eita-kun has regressed into the embodiment of bitterness when Kenjirō finally grew his wings and outperformed him in his own game.”

“I don’t think putting it so casually is a good idea.”

“Senpai!” Goshiki’s voice is too loud for a too quiet room as he hands Reon what he asked for. “Will you be needing anything else?”

Reon shakes his head, taking the roller from Goshiki’s grasp. “Could you go start making the filling? I heard from Shirabu that you knew how to cook.”

“Really? Shirabu-senpai put in a good word for me?”

“Uh, I wouldn’t say it’s ‘good’ exactly…” His voice trails off once Goshiki launches himself into the storage room presumably to gather the needed ingredients. Chuckling to himself, Reon dips his hands in a nearby bag of flour and proceeds to knead the dough into flatness. You watch him with careful vigilance since pies aren’t really your forte. Your expertise lies in bread, which isn’t as demanding as that pastry that needs too many conditions satisfied to be considered good. Making a crust that isn’t too brittle and a filling that shouldn’t be too savory is beyond you. You’re quite relieved that Reon took over for reasons that lie beyond your own laziness.

“So, (Name) was it?”

Your attention retracts back to the most peculiar out of your bosses. Tendou gazes at you with a glint of mischief crinkling his eyes, lips upturned into something akin to a sneer. “Yes?” you respond, shifting a little in your cramped seat.

Tendou hums an unfamiliar tune without letting up his thinly veiled interest. The way he’s staring reminds you of how a scientist would look at a foreign specimen, and you  aren’t very sure if you're glad to be on the receiving end of it. You’re drawing blanks as to why it seems like he's addressing you like it’s your first day on the job, but you’ve been told that Tendou has a habit of forgetting employees’ names and faces. He’s probably just familiarizing himself with your presence in the store since your shifts usually didn’t last long enough for you to cross paths with him. When he doesn’t speak any further, you decide to shift your line of sight back to Reon’s devoted handiwork.

“Wakatoshi-kun did a real good job on this one, huh?” A low chuckle rumbles from Tendou and though his voice has dipped into a whisper, you’re certain that he meant for you to hear.

With one brow quirked, you turn around with the intent of asking what he meant by that, but your plans are abruptly derailed when Goshiki walks back from the storage room, cheeks tinged with pink as he approaches you.

“What is it, Tsutomu?” you ask.

He reaches out a hand to scratch the back of his neck. “Um, could you please teach me how to open the stove? The one we have at home isn’t as hi-tech…”

You can hear Tendou sputtering behind you, causing Goshiki turn a few shades redder. You offer him a soft smile before hopping onto your feet to help him out and his face seems to light up a little at your willingness. The reaction makes you presume that he might not be used to getting helped around a lot, given that Shirabu, the guy in charge of keeping Goshiki in check, has an apparent dislike for slow learners. Speaking of which…

“Do you know where Shirabu is?” you ask him, suddenly hyper aware of the lack of staff inside the shop. Early afternoons aren’t the most hectic time of the day, but you aren’t used to having only three people with you in the kitchen. Hayato and Soekawa are nowhere to be found either. If Semi was here, he would be squawking like a parrot, appalled at their unexcused absences. But even the supervisor himself isn’t present.

Goshiki shakes his head as the two of you stalk off to the stoves lining the westernmost wall of the room. “He told me I was under Reon-san’s care for the day because he had somewhere to be with Ushijima-san.”

You nod slowly as you instruct him about the different buttons and switches on the stove. He seems to have committed every word to mind and begins tinkering with what he could with experimental curiosity. After asking if he needs any help with the actual cooking, he insists that he can do it on his own. When you slump back to your seat, Tendou is gone and Reon is already placing the flattened dough on a pie tray.

“Hey, Reon?”

“What?”

“Where the hell is everybody?”

The set of his jaw tightens ever so slightly. When Reon says he doesn’t know about the others’ whereabouts, you would’ve been convinced of his cluelessness had you been any less perceptive. With that sincere face of his, lying through the skin of his teeth would be a breeze if he needed to do so. But of all the people in the shop, Reon is someone that you’d spent the most time around aside from Kawanishi, so spotting a few chinks in his unflustered demeanor comes easier to you than most.

Just as you’re about to press the topic further, the sound of the back door of the kitchen slamming open makes you jolt in surprise. Emerging from outside are the very same people you’d been pondering about not ten seconds ago.

“Reon, get the herbs and incense  _now_!” Hayato barks as he drags the metal chair you were occupying earlier across the floor to prop it against the wall. There, Ushijima gently sets down a half-conscious Shirabu and—

“S-Shirabu-senpai?” The terror creeping from Goshiki’s voice rattles you all the way to your bones when your eyes train themselves on the discolored skin of Shirabu’s neck. His pale complexion is marred with a bruise that runs too dark a shade to be considered normal—the purplish red slowly fading into black. A trail of blood dribbles from the corner of his mouth as he stares into the space in front of him with a dazed look in his brown eyes. Ushijima is calmly telling him to stay awake, but you aren’t sure if the message is getting through when Shirabu doesn’t even give him so much as a minimal reaction. Soekawa, Tendou, and Semi appear a little shortly, with the latter two apparently engrossed in one of their untimely banters.

“Hah? You guys purposely kept me out of it ‘cause you’re _concerned_?” The furious scrunch of Tendou’s face takes you aback. “And where did that plan lead to, huh, Semisemi?”

Semi clicks his tongue. “You wouldn’t have been able to handle them with that injury of yours.”

Injury? From what you can see, Tendou looks like he’s in perfect shape. But from the way his frown deepens, he might have taken Semi’s words to heart.

Reon hurries back to the scene (when did he even leave?) with what seems like a jar with kanji engravings on the lid that are too small for you to read in one hand, and a bundle of incense sticks and a lighter in the other. He tells the others to give Shirabu some space to breathe and they comply, save for Soekawa who took action to assist Reon with whatever he planned to do with the strange jar. Why a mortar and a pestle are inside Soekawa’s messenger bag is beyond your understanding, but no one else in the room seems to find anything amiss when he procures it, so you decide to keep your questions to yourself.

Reon crouches by Shirabu’s feet to uncap the jar, setting the lid on the floor. Inside is a solid surface divided into two sections: one that seems to hold stark white herbs you’ve never seen before and one with three holes poked into the clay. Reon immediately shoves three incense sticks into the holes, igniting them with the lighter without a second thought. Smoke rises from where the sticks burn, diffusing the air with the sharp scent of pine needles and musk.

Soekawa gathers the ivory leaves in his hands to crush them on the mortar while he asks Semi to hand him ‘the salve’ from his bag. He rummages through Soekawa’s belongings and hands him a dirty reagent bottle. Soekawa pours a slimy, transparent substance from the bottle onto the mortar and mixes it with the crushed leaves with his bare fingers. He mutters something that’s out of earshot when he rises to his feet and applies his concoction onto Shirabu’s affliction. The contact seems to finally rouse him from his stupor when his face contorts in agony and a blood-curdling shriek pierces your ears.

Your skin prickles at the sight of Shirabu thrashing against Ushijima’s and Hayato’s restraining grasps as Soekawa covers the entirety of the bruise with the salve. When you feel Goshiki shuffling closer to you, you whisper, “What the absolute _fuck_ is going on, Tsutomu?”

There’s prominent hesitation in his eyes, like he knows exactly what’s going on, but he isn’t allowed to tell you. As the filling he was previously preparing lay forgotten on the stove, your stare hardens. You’ve been working here for half a year now, and not once did you witness anyone else barging in the kitchen sporting a malignant bruise that required herbal treatment. Yet Goshiki, who’s spent less time in the shop than you have, is already in on the situation?

“A strange sight, isn’t it?”

Out of reflex, you jump away when you hear Tendou whispering in your ear. With the convoluted display in front of you, your boss’ outlandish behavior does nothing to aid your peace of mind, but the way he’s calmly observing the others as Soekawa treats Shirabu makes you feel like this isn’t an uncommon occurrence.

“You aren’t really supposed to see this, little bird.” Tendou sighs, stretching out his limbs before draping one arm across your shoulder. “Wakatoshi-kun doesn’t really like picking fights, but Kenjirō can be a little stubborn. I’m all in for a beatdown any time, but couldn’t they have delayed that little scuffle until you weren’t in the shop?”  

You frown. “Wha—”

“(Name).”

Your eyes snap back to Semi, whose thin lips are pressed into a line. “Is it okay if you take your time off now? We’re not going to cut it from your salary, don’t worry.”

“Eita-kun, don’t you think we’ve kept her in the dark long enough?” Tendou groans, sounding rather annoyed as he disentangles from you. “She’s bound to find out either way.”

Semi glares at him. “That isn’t your decision to make, Tendou.”

“It isn’t yours, either,” the redhead rebutts, staring him down with resilience.

“But it _is_ mine.”

The sincere baritone of Ushijima’s voice envelops you like a warm blanket. At the same time, his domineering presence overshadows his candor and you’re left thinking that this man could be such a walking contradiction at times. He stands tall above the rest of the men around you. When you sneak a glance behind him, Shirabu has calmed down enough to deem him worthy of release. Reon is speaking softly to Shirabu as Soekawa wipes off the blood on his face. Strangely, the dark bruise on his neck has already lightened into a softer shade of purple—the skin around it yellowing at the edges. When your gaze shifts back to Ushijima, he’s staring at you with intensity pooling in his olive eyes.

“We are seraphim,” he speaks flatly.

Those words garner a variety of reactions: Tendou bursts out laughing, Semi drags a palm over his face, Goshiki is stunned into silence, and you’re craning your head to the side, wondering if you heard him right.

“Wakatoshi-kun, you don’t just drop a bomb like that without any context,” Tendou says, wiping a tear from his eye.

Ushijima’s brows knit in confusion. “What bomb?”

“Even after making a million souls, you’re still terrible at talking to your own craft aren’t you?”

“Excuse me,” you interrupt, “but can someone tell me exactly what’s going on? I feel like the useless extra character that isn’t involved in the overall plot.”

Tendou’s mouth curves into an eerie smile. “Oh, but you’re actually the main protagonist, little bird.”

“Would you lot stop talking in riddles?” Semi snaps before turning to you. “Look, (Name). I know this is a lot to take in but Wakatoshi is telling you the truth. We are seraphim. Angels. You see Shirabu over there?” He jams a thumb behind him, gesturing towards Shirabu as his prior hesitation to enlighten you is completely cast aside. “The reason why he got that blight is because he tried to jump the demon king on behalf of Wakatoshi himself. Of course his retainers wouldn’t allow that so they grabbed him by the neck to restrain him—”

“Hm, I wonder why Eita-kun just let that happen to poor Kenjirō when he could have warded them off with a single wave of his hand,” Tendou sneers at him, to which Semi responds with a hard glare.

“Tendou, there is nothing Semi could have done,” Ushijima insists. “We were outnumbered. The fault lies within myself. I should not have heeded Shirabu’s request of having an audience with the demon king in light of the incidents happening today. It could have been settled in a different manner.”

“Tch, unless it’s about completely eradicating that demon clan scum, I’m not hearing it.”

“You’re being an idiot again.” Semi smacks Tendou’s shoulder. “They’re assholes, but their existence is necessary, just like ours. Unless we want the balance of nature tipped, the best we can do is keep them in check.”

Tendou shrugs. “They’re the ones devouring souls left and right like it’s no one’s business. Stupid brutes are consuming souls faster than Wakatoshi-kun can make them. Would nature really go haywire once those who are out to destroy everything in it are erased from existence?”

“You know that’s not how it works.”

“Then how _does_ it work, huh, Eita-ku—”

“ _Silence._ ”

You didn’t know that it was possible, but the pitch of Ushijima’s voice dips even lower when he utters that single word that has everyone in the room cowering at his authority. Even Hayato and Soekawa have paused to take a look at what’s going on in their side of the kitchen. Ushijima’s face remains unperturbed even after his assertion and the room is plunged into pregnant silence, not a soul daring to speak after Ushijima himself. But the tension is ultimately shattered when the kitchen doors fling open to reveal Kawanishi poking his head from the entrance.

“Oi, (Name), your favorite customer placed a milk bread delivery again,” Kawanishi shamelessly announces. If he noticed the tense atmosphere, he doesn’t show it.

It was all too much. You couldn’t bring yourself to stomach every word that the three men had fed you. Seraphim? What is this, some fantasy series? What would angels be accomplishing by running a damn bakery? Hearing Kawanishi spouting something about deliveries makes you have some semblance of normalcy to grab onto, and you want nothing more than to take it. This was probably just some sick joke that they managed Ushijima to go along with to spite you. And a demon king injuring Shirabu? You’ve never heard of that story before. Without so much as a backwards glance, you head over to the front with Kawanishi, pushing all thoughts of seraphim, and the demon king, and Shirabu’s bruise at the back of your mind.

Kawanishi is silent when he places two packaged loaves of your signature milk bread in a paper bag, and you’re glad he doesn’t probe you for any reaction about the scene from earlier. At the back of your mind, you wonder if he's in on their game. Did he notice what was going on back there? Is he going to convince you that he’s seraphim, too? 

But Kawanishi has never been the confrontational type. Instead of bringing it up, he writes up the receipt for the order as usual, tears it from the pad and hands it to you. “If he asks for another discount, you can tell him to piss off.”

“That’s not very nice.”

“It’s not very nice to keep ripping the shop off by charging the guy less than the actual price just because you think he’s cute either.”

Your face heats up at his accusation. “I-it’s not like that! He’s just been such a frequent customer. H-he deserves a little mark down, don’t you think?”

Kawanishi stares at you, unimpressed. “I’m pretty sure he never drops by the shop and prefers deliveries because he’s only interested in you.”

“Shut up, Taichi.”

 

* * *

 

You park the shop’s delivery motorcycle by the curb of one of the most lavish houses in the neighborhood. You don’t spend a lot of time in this part of the city out of your usual deliveries to this one business tycoon. The man seems to have taken a liking to the milk bread which no one in the shop makes better than you do. He hasn’t really given you his name, but he told you that he's earned the nickname ‘Grand King’. You snorted at that and insisted on calling him King instead.

When you ring the intercom to King’s residence, his familiar voice greets you with enthusiasm. “Oh, (Name)-chan! You’re here early. The snobby cashier told me that the delivery would take about an hour or so.”

You find yourself laughing at the way he addresses Kawanishi. “You’re in luck, King-san. I just made a fresh batch earlier this afternoon. That’s why you didn’t have to wait.”

“Alright. I’ll head down to fetch it.”

Static rattles from the intercom and you know that King has ended the exchange when the red button stops glowing. You hum a song you heard on TV yesterday as you count the cars that roll by the street. Seven have already zipped past when the smaller gate creaks, revealing one of the most attractive people you’ve laid your eyes on.

Usually, King would greet you wearing his complete three-piece suit, hair slicked back into perfection while a condescending smirk danced across his lips. But on weekends, you could hardly imagine him being one of the most powerful men in Japan, given that he opts to wear a rumpled shirt that’s two sizes bigger and pajama pants with aliens patterned onto the fabric. His chestnut hair is sticking out in all directions in a way that suggests that he just rolled out of bed.

King half-greets, half-yawns, “Helho, (Name)-chwan.”

“Long night?” You quirk an eyebrow before handing him his purchase.

“Mmmm not really,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “I just ran into a couple of...business rivals. They didn’t make my morning very enjoyable.”

“I see.” You spare him a nod of understanding, trying your best not to stare at how adorable the way his brown eyes droop when he stares inside the bag. He makes a satisfied noise as he fishes his wallet from the pocket of his pajamas.

“A thousand yen, right?” You don’t miss the teasing lilt in his voice.

The way you giggle at that makes you want to slap yourself, but you manage to regain your composure before he notices it crumbling. “Sad to say the snobby cashier is giving me shit for the discounts. Could you pay for the full one thousand four hundred yen in the meantime, King-san?”

He chuckles before pulling out a single banknote from his wallet. “Keep the change then.”

You receive his payment with a curt bow but when your eyes land on the value of the money in hand, your jaw nearly drops to the ground.

“K-King-san, this is too much! Way too much!” The ten thousand yen bill quivers in your hands as you insist that you’d be alright with a smaller bill.

King waves away your concern. “Then just hand over the amount that snobby-chan wants. Keep the rest for yourself. Consider it as my compliments to the chef.” The grin plastered on his handsome face leaves you wondering how the hell this guy is still a bachelor. You’re pretty certain that your face is as red as Tendou’s hair by now, and you’re glad he doesn’t point it out.

“It’s been nice seeing you today, (Name)-chan,” he chirps. “But I really have to go. I still have some matters to deal with after I’ve had my fill of this delicious treat.”

“You’re t-too kind,” you sputter.

Deliveries to King’s household last longer than your typical trips, since the man always charms you into some small talk. But that’s usually it. Nothing really lies beyond these swift meetings in front of his house. Even if he’s expressing some subtle interest towards you, at the end of the day, you’re just a humble baker and he, a successful businessman.

But today is quite different. Before he disappears behind the gate, King tells you, “I’m thinking about dropping by the bakery to see you in action. Expect me in a few days’ time.” His velvetine voice draws you in like a moth to a flame and all you could do was nod dumbly at his proclamation. He bids you a quick farewell with crinkled eyes and a peace sign. You know for certain that his sunlit smile is already imprinted in the back of your eyelids.

As you head back to the bakery on your scooter, King’s words only seem like one of his musings; something he won’t really act on given his tight schedule. What good would it do him to go out of his way to pay you a visit?

But little did you know that demons never lie.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop. Surprise, surprise, issan update <3

You dream of a man with black eyes every year on your birthday.

He sits  alone on a mountain of bones where crimson liquid dripped from the ivory and into the earth that decayed with each drop. If you squint, you’d realize that it stemmed from the two holes in his chest—why are there _holes_ in his chest?—and that you could see the blood-red sky through the absence of bone and sinew.

 _Like peering into a couple of open windows_ , was always your morbid afterthought.

It’s such a regularly timed occurrence that you’ve already committed the sequence of events to heart—he gazed into the distance, you stared at the gaping wounds in his chest, then he snapped his head in your direction, eyes like a bottomless abyss.

“Do you remember? Do you remember what you’ve forgotten?” he asks you with a voice that sounded like sandpaper scratching against your ears, his cracked lips forcing its way into a paper-thin smile. “If you haven’t, I’m sure you will—you _always_ will.”

The frown that you aren’t aware you were making only deepens. The dream starts the same way every single time, but he always says something different, his words holding the same, cryptic air. One thing you’ve noticed, as well, is that the man in front of you seemed certain with what he imparts—like his word is absolute.

A response reverberates in your chest but it never comes out of your mouth. Strange enough, you could somehow make out the look of understanding in his otherwise blank eyes, as if he already knows what you want to say even if you can’t tell him up front.

But instead of easing your age-long confusion, he does what he always does when the dream’s about to end. He waves a bony hand in the air and the wind instantly picks up around you. His disheveled hair, just as black as his eyes, dances in the breeze as his somber grin morphs into tight-lipped melancholy. With a single gesture that’s akin to swatting away a fly, the wind blows you out of your dreamscape, leaving you gasping for air as you jolt into consciousness.

Your phone is vibrating underneath your pillow, chiming with the mildest alarm tone available. You always hated being roused abruptly, having preferred the gentle kind of waking ever since you were little. But this particular moment every year is something you’ve long resigned yourself to. Gentle mornings were never a thing on your birthday.

Groaning, you haul yourself by your elbows so that you’re seated on the bed, feeling under your pillows for your phone. When you manage to retrieve it, you immediately hit the stop button before checking the home screen for notifications you might have received in your sleep. There are some Happy Birthday texts from old friends from college, Semi asking when you’re going to time in (the bakery’s employees have the liberty of coming to work whenever they please when it’s their birthday), and a few messages from an unlisted number. Out of curiosity, you tap on the notification for the latter first.

**[22-2XXX-XXXX]: 06:05**

_Good morning, (Name)-chan! Heard it’s your birthday today! I had someone arrange a special delivery to you. By the time you read this, it’s probably already sitting on your front door!!~_  

**[22-2XXX-XXXX] 06:10**

_Sorry! My assistant Kuro-chan told me that I sounded like a total stalker there… I swear I’m not, (Name)-chan! I got your number through, ah, some connections I have. If you’re uncomfy with that, feel free to smack me on our next meeting~ - O.T_

You don’t have to ponder too much to know who it is behind the unknown number. King has a very distinct way of talking, which strangely branches off to his text messages as well. (You can almost hear his cheery voice through the screen.) But what puzzles you is how he signed the last text he sent. _O.T._ Were those his initials?

It takes you awhile to reply to your other messages, save for the one from King since…how exactly do you respond to someone (who you may or may not harbor some fondness for) when they arranged a _special delivery_ for you through a vague text message? You decide to save your gratitude for later once you confirm it with your own eyes.

When you pad towards your front door, you sneak a look through the peephole, only to find nobody standing on the other side of the door. Shrugging, you swing it open, peering around the hallway for the presence of another person. But once your gaze drifts onto the doormat, your eyes almost bulge out from their sockets.

On the mat lies a bouquet of forget-me-nots; the vibrant blue flowers tucked inside a sheet of delicate wrapping paper tied in the middle with a silk ribbon. Your heart leaps at the sight—they’re your favorite! You can still remember all the times you helped your grandmother plant these in her garden so you could bring them to your parents’ grave whenever their death anniversary rolled around. 

“Your parents are heroes, sweet child,” she once told you, stroking your hair as you quietly admired the sight of the lively blue contrasting the slate gray of their gravestones. “Though you have no memory of them, you mustn’t forget what they did for you.”

But your grandmother never really told you what they did for you. All she ever said was that they gave their life up so you could live and nothing else. It was something you were taught not to ponder too much about because unneeded curiosity will be the bane of one’s existence. Though, as you grew older, so did the desire to find out what really happened. But before you could muster enough courage to finally ask your grandmother to be honest with you, she died of an illness she'd been suffering for as long as you could remember.

Your quiet reminiscence is interrupted when you catch sight of a card dangling from the ribbon that held the bouquet in one piece. With one brow quirked, you flip it open, reading the hurried scribble of words on the surface.

_I’ve been told I’m good at guessing stuff about people. And my guess is that these are your favorite! I definitely didn’t bribe your close friends into telling me ^__^ (more @ the back)_

A soft chuckle slips past your lips at the way he crammed the words in such a small space. You could see that he even tried to squeeze in a Happy Birthday on the same space, but he stopped half-way upon realizing that he can’t—messily concealing the ruined attempt behind some more ink.

_Happy Birthday again, (Name)-chan! I hope you liked these! Picked them out myself~ BTW, my business card is inside the bouquet :3_

Your mouth hangs slightly agape at that last bit. It isn’t like you were dying to know King’s contact details, since the only instance you ever needed to converse with him is whenever he places orders in the shop. And it it’s not as if he went around giving away his personal information to just anyone either. King is a reputable person and you respected the privacy that he needed, and even if a part of you sort of wants to ask him out for a coffee sometime, you've always decided against it.

Yet here you are, carefully sifting through the flowers until your fingers brushed against what you were looking for. Taking a deep breath, you gently pull it out, shaking off some baby’s breath that got onto the card.

“Oikawa Tooru,” you murmured quietly, thumb grazing the pristine portrait of the businessman that more or less got you caught in his charm. A beautiful man needs a beautiful name, right?

A small smile crawls onto your face as you read the rest of the details. Apparently, he’s the founder of the Aoba Johsai Telecommunications firm, an upstarting telco business in Miyagi that’s already raking in millions by the day. (You know because you’ve tried applying there once, but you were flat-out rejected by the human resource agent because of your lack of experience.) You turn his business card around, not really expecting to see anything, but there’s another messy scribble on the back, too.

_If you’re free tonight at eight, give me a call~_

Your face immediately heats up at the suggestiveness of his words. Shaking your head, you head back inside your apartment, kicking the door shut in the process. You carefully placed the bouquet and business card from King— _Oikawa_ —on top of your coffee table so you can pace around your living room more freely.

“Why is he doing this?” you wonder aloud, bracing your hands on your hips as you stared at the ceiling. “I’m just a commoner, for God’s sake.”

Once the reality that your dream of dating a hot businessman might come to fruition sooner rather than later sinks in, your eyes drift towards the calendar that hangs by the wall next to the front door. Three days after your birthday, a red X marks your parents’ death anniversary. Even if your grandmother died almost a decade ago, you’ve never stopped visiting the parents you never knew, making sure to leave fresh forget-me-nots no matter how busy you may be on that day.

The thought momentarily distracts you from the anticipation that’s bursting in your chest, but once you remember Oikawa’s last message, your heart lurches yet again—leaving you a squealing mess on your beat-up couch.

Like any other year, mornings on your birthday have always been far from gentle.

 

* * *

 

"You look happy," Kawanishi comments with an arched brow as you scrolled away on your phone behind the cashier with him. 

"Isn't it normal to be happy on your birthday?" you quip. 

He lifts his shoulders into a curt shrug as he lazily shifted from channel to channel on the television. "I just think every time my birthday comes around, it's another year closer to my death."

"Very nihilistic of you, Taichi." 

"Is that an insult? 'Cause I dunno what that means, but who cares." 

You decide to leave it at that, laughing quietly at his constant nonchalance over literally anything. Semi told you that Kawanishi isn't very easy to get along with, since he has such a negative outlook on life in general, but that little quality did the exact opposite for you. He actively tried to turn away from your budding friendship in the beginning, but he eventually gave up resistance and resigned himself to the fact that you were now his friend. (Kudos to your undying persistence.)

The bell to the front door chimes and your eyes instinctively flick towards the entrance. There, Ushijima, accompanied by Semi and Tendou, is occupied by an important phone call, judging from the tightness of his expression. He strides over to the kitchen, paying you and Kawanishi little mind as his two companions follow him suit. But when his olive-eyed gaze sweeps over the counter for a second, he affixes you both with a stare that tells you he just remembered something. After saying a few words to cut his call short, Ushijima pockets his mobile phone and addresses the two of you with a soft grunt.

"(Surname), I'd like to apologize on behalf of every person involved for our rather preposterous behavior last week," he says, ducking into a full, ninety-degree bow that you feel as if you aren't worthy to be on the receiving end of. You're about to open your mouth to say that it really didn't bother you as much, and that _really_ he doesn't need to bow despite the fact that they just introduced themselves as...angels, but your voice dies in your throat when he tells you, "It was a joke." 

"A joke?" you echo. 

"Yes," Ushijima confirms sternly, face as placid as ever. "The events that transpired were but a joke that Tendou thought of out of the blue." 

To his side, Tendou drapes a slender arm across your boss' broad shoulders. "Yep! I thought it'd be fun to mess with our little bird before her birthday~" 

Kawanishi glances at you questioningly from the side but you couldn't return his gaze—not when you're casting Ushijima a puzzled look. "W-What about Shirabu? The whole cleansing the weird bruise on his neck ritual? And Reon couldn't have invented all those...those incantation-things right off the bat! Where'd you guys even get the strange jar even?"

Semi sighs from where he stood. "You wouldn't believe the lengths that idiot Tendou would go to execute the perfect prank." 

You stare at the three of them simultaneously, disbelief painting your gaze so raw that even Ushijima shifts uncomfortably under the weight of it. Narrowing your eyes, you can see that a few beads of sweat are rolling across Semi's temples as he gulps nervously as well. Only Tendou seems to be adamant with the whole _we are seraphim_ fiasco being a very convincing joke.

"Goodness. Angels have wings, don't they?" He swivels around, jamming his thumbs behind him to point at his clothed back. "Do you see any wings protruding from here? Nothing, right? Kenjirō's got a knack for makeup; did his part splendidly! And Reon's been studying foreign languages since he was in high school! We got ya pretty good, didn't we, little bird?" 

"What about...the demon king?" you mutter almost quietly. 

"Hm?" Tendou raises an eyebrow, urging you to speak up. 

"I said," you say a little louder, clearing your throat, "what about the demon king? Is he made up, too? T-The two of you were having a pretty heated argument about demons running amok and consuming souls indiscriminately." 

In your peripheral vision, you can see Semi stiffen, fingers clenching into a fist. Ushijima manages to retain his air of neutrality, and Tendou merely laughs at your words. Your redheaded boss pats your head gently, lips twisting into a sneer as if he's talking to a child. "Now, do you _really_ believe in angels and demons, little bird?  Sure they're from a widely accepted form of literature, but they're just as fictional as unicorns and dinosaurs."

"Dinosaurs were real, though," Kawanishi sidetracks dryly.

"Sure they were, Taichi," Tendou says with an undercurrent of sarcasm that's so natural, you don't even know what to believe anymore.

"So, let me get this straight." You stare at him suspiciously. "Last week, when Ushijima-san and everyone else dragged Shirabu seemingly half-dead in the kitchen, it was all a joke?"

He nods. "Yes. That's pretty much the gist of what we're trying to tell you." 

"And when Ushijima-san told me you guys were angels...it was a joke?"

"Yes."

"And when you and Semi-san were bickering about the necessity of the demon race...it was also a joke."

There's a half-second delay in Tendou's response that you normally wouldn't have taken notice of. But that momentary hesitation is a silver lining compared to his earlier eagerness to give answers to your inquiries. Still, he answers with a voice that doesn't betray a speck of uncertainty. 

"Is it so hard to believe that we're _human_ , (Name)?" The implications of his words are borderline vexing, but you decide not to comment on it. Of course you'd be nonplussed about them spouting identities like it's no one's business. And if you were to answer honestly, Tendou _does_ seem more supernatural than any of your colleagues. 

"O-kay?" You nod your head slowly, still dubious with their unwarranted behavior, but you supposed that things were never normal in the shop to begin with. 

"Besides!" Semi interjects in the middle of the conversation, almost too enthusiastic to be genuine. "If there really was a demon king, why would he choose to attack one of our own? Are we _that_ special?" He follows it up with a laugh that's so forced, you're beginning to feel the dregs of secondhand embarrassment. 

In the next moment, the bell from the front door chimes once again, signalling the arrival of a customer. You glance behind Tendou's towering figure before you in front the cashier, and you almost choke on your own saliva when you see who it is.

"So _that's_ why you're all giddy," Kawanishi snorts.

Ignoring him, you quickly duck under the divider to greet your most loyal customer. "King-san!" 

The chestnut-haired businessman sighs, lower lip swelling into a pout as he adjusts the lapels of his coat. "I gave you my card, didn't I? You can stop calling me that now."

"Do you not like it?" 

"That's what my men call someone else in our workforce. He's an annoying little bastard that's trying to steal my job, but since I'm fond of you, I let you call me as such just until you got my business card~" King— _Oikawa_ , you remind yourself—grins until he takes notice of everyone else in the room. "Oh? Ushiwaka-chan and Co. Didn't know you'd be here." 

When you spare a glance towards your bosses, you nearly startle at the way they were practically shooting daggers at Oikawa with their gazes alone. Even Ushijima seems to be heavily unsettled by his presence; like Oikawa isn't welcome here. Nevertheless, he softens his viridian gaze, masking his prior animosity when he says, "Oikawa. What brings you here?" 

That's odd. How do they know each other? You sneak a glance at Kawanishi who returns it immediately. When you gesture towards the two men that just addressed one another, he all but shrugs, leaving you wondering how your boss and potential conquest are acquainted.

"Oh, it's nothing much, Ushiwaka-chan," Oikawa croons almost mockingly, lips curling into a smile that seemed different from the ones he'd show you. "Just thought I'd pay my favorite baker a visit. It's your birthday, right (Name)-chan?"

"Y-Yeah," you respond with wariness settling beneath your skin. You can feel your bosses' eyes trained on you, and the intensity of their gazes prompts you to choose your words carefully for some, unfathomable reason. "Thank you, by the way. For the flowers." 

"You're welcome," Oikawa says kindly, taking your hand in his own before placing a soft, fleeting kiss on the back of your hand. "I want you to have only the best."

Heat immediately begins to creep up your neck at such a bold action and it seems that you're not the only one that's taken aback with the sight. The tension that seeped through the air in the short time since Oikawa's entrance has turned sweltering by the time you start to notice it. Ushijima is still putting up a rather civilized front, probably opting to deal with this as professionally as he could. Tendou's eyes are narrowed into slits and he's keeping his silence to observe Oikawa's every move. Semi just looks mortified that he's standing right there, in front of all of you, and Kawanishi is just as confused as you are, but is keeping as much distance between him and Oikawa. 

Whatever history that must have taken place between them, it definitely isn't good. 

"O-Oikawa-san, this is flattering and all but..." A hand goes behind to rub the back of your neck awkwardly. "Couldn't this have waited until evening?" 

He simpers, crossing his arms over his chest. "You didn't reply to my text message. I was heartbroken at work, you know."

"Ah..." You aren't really sure if you have the heart to tell him that you were so busy wallowing in your own glee that you forgot to reply to him altogether. "Sorry. How about we just push through with your eight o'clock plans." 

Before Oikawa could confirm your plans, the door to the kitchen springs open as Reon walks out, carrying a fresh batch of cinnamon buns. "Wakatoshi, we're running out of cinna—"

The sound of the metal tray clattering to the floor is almost deafening but you can still hear Goshiki yelping at the loud noise from the kitchen. Everyone else apart from Oikawa is visibly startled by Reon dropping the buns that were still fresh from the oven. Kawanishi even mutters, "The cinnamon buns..," with the melancholy of someone partaking in a funeral. Reon is staring at Oikawa, bug-eyed and confused just like every man in the vicinity and you have half the mind to ask what the hell their problem is with him.

"I'll take you up on that offer, (Name)-chan." Oikawa grins, squeezing your hand with reassurance. "But I think I'm going to have to take my leave. The swans aren't very fond of little old me." 

"You..." 

When you whisk around yet again, another person has joined the fray—taking the form in a pale-faced Shirabu that's pointing a shaky finger in Oikawa's direction. His disbelief morphs into pure, unadulterated rage that looks as if it'll boil over any moment now—

The front door chimes open once again. (Saved by the damn bell!) Another tall male enters the shop, wearing a three-piece that's similar but not as extravagant as Oikawa's. His dark hair fringes across one of his eyes as he adjusts the thin wires of his earpiece "You're taking a while try'na woo your girlfriend, boss." 

"Kuro-chan, I was just about to take my leave." Oikawa rolls his eyes at him and you try not to linger on the fact that he didn't correct 'Kuro-chan' when the latter accused you of being his girlfriend. "If I stay a minute longer I may not come out at all. What a shame. Ah, see you at eight?" He directs that last bit towards you.

"Uh, yeah!" you respond shakily. 

Oikawa nods solemnly, like he isn't the least baffled with the pure contempt that's being thrown his way. "I'll give you a call, then~"

As Oikawa makes his way to Kuro-chan's side, you find yourself oddly transfixed with the newcomer. You can't quite place your finger on it, but there's something enticingly familiar about him... But once the front door slams shut once more, the room is plunged into a silence so thick, it's hard to believe that there's actually seven of you at the moment. 

"So," you decidedly break through the awkwardness, "Semi-san, what were you saying about—"

"What was he doing here?" Shirabu hisses to no one in particular. Reon sighs, plucking the soiled cinnabon buns from the floor as he rubs the younger man's shoulders in an attempt to soothe him. 

You sigh. "Oikawa-san was just—"

"The hell are _you_ doing with _him_?" he all but yells, taking you aback for a moment.

"Shirabu," Ushijima says cautiously. "Think things through before you say them." 

He scoffs, shaking his head vigorously. "After what that bastard did? Do you think I'm simply going to let him waltz into our territory as he pleases? Just because he's all smitten with one of the newbies?" 

"Hey," you intervene, a stab of annoyance lingering in your chest. "You know, you guys have been acting really fucking weird lately, you know that? First you stage some stupid production to convince me that you're seraphim, then the following week you tell me it's all a joke just to mess with me before my birthday. Now some asshole is giving me shit just because one of my regulars dropped by? So much for an ideal workplace environment, huh." 

Not giving them any leeway to rebut, you lean over the counter to grab your belongings from where you were seated earlier. You've come to love these guys in ways you never really did for your previous co-workers, but they really can be a handful at times. Just before you could make your exit, you tell turn around to say, "Semi-san, I'll be taking my first leave for the month after all." 

"But—"

"See you tomorrow!" you greet with a forced smile paved on your lips, making sure to slam the door to the shop to make a point that they're hopefully not too dense to understand. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Kawanishi isn't really given a very solid character in the canon writing, but since he reminds me a lot of Midori from Enstars, I miiiight have incorporated a bit of his personality into Kawanishi oops.
> 
> This has been in the drafts for like a month and I only got around with writing it an hour before my next class so GOTTA BLAST!

**Author's Note:**

> All the love for Hana on this one! She requested this ages ago on Tumblr, and I only finished it recently. I'm not sure if I want turn this into a full-blown fanfic, so comment your thoughts below if you'd want to know more about the lore in this. You can also drop by my [Tumblr](http://turooketsurou.tumblr.com/) if you want some consistent-ish updates on my work :3 
> 
> Thank you for stopping by~~~~


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